


Reciprocity

by discolophon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel and Jimmy Novak are Twins, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-28 00:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15036689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discolophon/pseuds/discolophon
Summary: @princessjimmynovak prompted from the kink list 4. "You know I love you, right? I have every intention of fucking you like I don't." + 18. "That's it. Touch yourself for me."





	Reciprocity

**Author's Note:**

> 1) rape/noncon tag is bc "fuck or die" isn't synonymous with clear and enthusiastic consent. but pls note, none of the characters here are unwilling, they just don't care for the circumstances. it's more "vaguely dubcon until the pining idiots actually use their words" than anything. still, use ur discretion.

They barely make it into the rest stop's dingy bathroom--barely get the door shut behind them--before Jimmy's shoving Dean up against the wall, scuffing Dean's chin on the grimy painted cinderblocks, reaching around Dean's waist to scrabble desperately at his button and zipper.

Dean struggles briefly against the feverish weight of Jimmy's body, trying to get his hands together so he can open the lube packet and condom he managed to grab out of his duffle in their rush to some semblance of privacy. But Jimmy's heavy and desperate and not letting up, crushing Dean against the wall with mindless jerks of his hips, and after getting nowhere fast, Dean curses and lets himself be crushed, lifts the packets to his mouth and rips them open with his teeth instead.

He tries not to worry that Jimmy won't stop to use them. No condom would probably be fine; Jimmy doesn't go for random or risky hookups, at least he hasn't as long as Dean's known him. But the lube's more of a necessity. Dean doesn't think he'll need much prep--unless the evening's plans are really ambitious, he never does--but "not much" isn't the same as "none".

Jimmy gets Dean's jeans open and shoved down with his boxers, and then his hands disappear and Dean feels them at the small of his back, battling with Jimmy's own fly. He's making incoherent little noises of mixed-up lust and pain, and Dean's gut twists with sympathy and rage and worry and fear.

Fucking warlock.

"Jimmy," Dean says, when he feels him jolt away clothed and come back bare, hard cock slipping in the cleft of Dean's ass before nudging between his thighs, uncoordinated but with definite intent. "Wait, Jimmy--here, here--"

Jimmy whimpers, but stops, and snatches the lube and condom from where Dean's holding them up for him. When he presses cold, slick fingertips to Dean's hole, it's shaky, too quick, too hard. But Dean can't guess what even this much delay is doing to him--"Fuck or die, fellas," was all Grady had said, with an ugly sneer, before making his escape--and focuses on making himself relax, open up, let Jimmy in.

While his hand works unsteadily between Dean's legs, Jimmy presses his forehead between Dean's shoulderblades and breathes like it hurts. The sound of it bounces off filthy tile and metal and porcelain to fill the small bathroom, ragged, scraping.

He's managed a cursory stretch at best by the time Jimmy's free hand clenches on Dean's hip. "Dean, I'm--" he stammers, his voice tight, "--I need--I can't--"

"Okay," Dean soothes, tamping down a fresh spike of tension. He braces himself between Jimmy and the wall, canting his ass back for the best angle he can manage, then drops his hand to Jimmy's wrist and squeezes gently. "I'm good, Jimmy. I've got you. Go ahead."

He winces when Jimmy's cock pushes past his still-resisting rim and shoves in deep. The drag back out isn't any better, but fuck if Dean's gonna let on, flinch or shy away or do anything to make Jimmy feel any worse about this. He grits his teeth and meets Jimmy's thrusts as best he can and waits for the hard stretch to ease into something that feels close to good.

It's not the first time Dean's had a rough rest stop fuck. Despite his many years of vagabond necessity, it's not even the first time he hasn't gotten paid for a rough rest stop fuck. But it's the first time he's done this with Jimmy--the first time he's done anything like this with Jimmy--and he's not one for sentiment, but he really fucking wishes that the first time Jimmy fucked him could've happened any other way.

What with one thing and another--context versus sentiment versus sensation--Dean's only just managed to get fully hard when Jimmy's already-frantic rhythm starts stuttering. Dean doesn't even try to reach down to jerk himself off before Jimmy finishes.

Jimmy wails when he comes. It doesn't sound like relief.

_____

Dean and Jimmy had gone after Grady, intending to bind his powers with a specially-prepared hex bag and take his head off while he was defenseless. Cas had gone to Grady's house to pile all the bastard's black magic shit in the basement to serve as kindling in the house fire he was going to set. Dean calls him from the road while Jimmy hunches in on himself in the passenger seat, still breathing hard from his rest stop exertion.

When Dean tells Cas what kind of curse Jimmy was hit with, he goes quiet, breathing unevenly on the other end of the line.

"Look, Cas, I got this," Dean says, bulling past the awkwardness with all-business bravado. "You finish up at the house, make sure that asshole can't use anything in that damn collection of his again. He'll have to start from scratch if he wants to keep this shit up. If we can't kill him, we can at least inconvenience the fuck out of him."

"We're going to kill him," Cas promises, and Dean hears icy fury under his flat tone. "But yes, I'll finish up here. Take care of Jimmy," he adds--like Dean needs to be told--and hangs up.

They're less than five minutes away from the motel when Jimmy jolts like he's touched a live wire and says, strangled and fearful, "Dean, I need--shit. God _dammit._ I need to suck your cock."

A cold lead weight sinks into Dean's gut. Of course, fuck-or-die curses were rarely resolved with just one orgasm; Dean knew that. But there was knowing a fact, and there was seeing the reality. And faced with the reality of Jimmy's suffering in just the twenty minutes or so between the curse hitting him and the boneless slump of his body after he came, Dean had hoped--

\--well. He'd been wrong.

Jimmy's pawing at his jeans again before Dean's even decided whether to pull over. In the end, he doesn't bother. His hard-on has faded since he tucked himself gingerly back into his jeans at the rest stop; he'd intended to get Jimmy home safe, get him cleaned up and put to bed, and wait until Jimmy fell asleep so he could take care of himself without taking advantage. He's only just half-hard when Jimmy ducks down and takes him into his mouth, nowhere near the point where road head would be dangerously distracting. So he keeps them on the road, keeps them under the speed limit, and when he pulls into the motel's parking lot, he steers them around back to a shadowy corner by the dumpsters.

By the time he puts the Impala in park, he's fully hard again, and this time he knows he won't be able to help himself: the context may be a mood-killer, but Jimmy's thick lips sliding wet and hungry over his dick are Jimmy's thick lips sliding wet and hungry over his dick. Letting go of the wheel, Dean gets his hands into Jimmy's hair and tugs a little. Jimmy likes getting his hair pulled when he gives head--Dean knows because Jimmy gets shamelessly talkative when he drinks, and Dean, nursing his crush, has paid attention--and Dean wants to do what he can to mitigate this fucking shitshow for him, even if only slightly. While his left hand cards and catches in Jimmy's hair, his right hand smooths down Jimmy's nape and onto his back, a slow, reassuring sweep.

Jimmy moans around him. Bobs and sucks and fists Dean's shaft and laves his tongue over the crown, and when Dean warns, "Jimmy, fuck, I'm--" he sinks down until Dean's tight in his throat, swallows and swallows and swallows.

_____

The friendship between Dean and the twins began as a professional partnership. After Sammy decided to get out of the life and left to finish his college degree, Dean was at loose ends: happy to keep hunting, but lonely as hell doing it by himself. He met the Novaks on a crocotta case outside Glendive, Montana; they got along, and got the job done, and kept in touch. One team-up turned into a second, turned into a fifth, and the day Dean realized the Impala and the Continental had been driving in convoy for almost two months, he also realized he didn't want it any other way.

It was another few weeks before Dean realized he was in trouble.

The twins were skilled hunters and good men, and they both thought the same of Dean, despite ample evidence to the contrary on that second point. Cas was serious and committed and had a wickedly dry sense of humour; Jimmy was clever and confident, gentle with kids and overwhelmed civilians. And both twins were fucking gorgeous, with strong, capable bodies, broad hands, and bright blue eyes that held Dean like a supermagnet when they caught his gaze. Dean's realization that not only did he like the twins, he was seriously fucking attracted to them, too, began weeks of wrestling with himself: first, trying to figure out if starting something up with Cas or Jimmy was worth jeopardizing the friendship and professional simpatico all three of them enjoyed; then, trying to figure out if he could bring himself to choose one twin over the other.

Then--in Dean's very private moments--trying not to dwell on the guilty but irresistible thought that, if he came clean with them, maybe the twins wouldn't make him choose.

And then, one day, they caught wind of a series of deaths in Fort Morgan, Colorado, that had all the hallmarks of black magic.

_____

Their room's empty, Cas not back yet, when Dean and Jimmy finally stumble through the door, both of them weak-kneed from spent adrenaline and having gotten off in the car. Probably for the best, Dean thinks, watching Jimmy stagger past with his swollen red lips and finger-fucked hair. It's awkward enough with just Dean and Jimmy; Dean doesn't need Jimmy's brother here too, waiting anxiously just outside, maybe close enough that he couldn't help but hear Dean and Jimmy fucking out the curse through the thin motel room door--

\--Dean cuts that line of thought off at the knees.

Very aware of how grimy the rest stop had been, Dean strips them both and pulls Jimmy into the narrow shower, turns the water on hot and lathers them both up as thoroughly yet efficiently as possible, because who knows what or when the next round's gonna be.

Sure enough, halfway through rinsing off, Jimmy's pupils blow out and he starts trembling. Bringing his hand to Dean's jaw, he pushes his thumb between Dean's lips and presses down on Dean's tongue. Dean goes to his knees under the shower's spray and gives Jimmy his mouth, pressing Jimmy's back to the tiles and holding him up with his hands firm on the blades of Jimmy's hips.

Jimmy's got spell-induced refractory time, which is why he's rounding his third orgasm inside an hour. Dean, on the other hand, doesn't think he'll get it up again so soon after the car. But fuck, he loves sucking dick; and _fuck_ , he's sucking _Jimmy's_ dick. Between Jimmy's thick cock filling his mouth and sliding heavy on his tongue, and Jimmy's sharp hipbones jerking abortively under his hands, and Jimmy's greedy noises echoing off the tiles, Dean's own cock is soon twitching up against his thigh. By the time Jimmy rakes his hands into Dean's soaked hair and pulls him off and spurts all over his face, Dean's full-on aching with his own banking need to come.

Jimmy's shaking legs give out roughly two seconds after his last shot stripes Dean's jaw. Dean barely catches him in time, helps him sit in what little cramped space is left in the bathtub, and breathes through his teeth when the uncontrolled flop of Jimmy's arm brushes against his jutting dick.

Jimmy rolls his head where it's tipped back against the wall and flutters heavy, water-beaded eyelashes at him. "You okay?" he asks, his words a little slurred.

"Yeah." Dean gives him a rueful chuckle as he wipes Jimmy's jizz off his face. "Yeah, just--sensitive."

"I'm not giving you much rebound time, am I."

"It's not like you got much choice."

Jimmy huffs a drugged-sounding laugh of his own. "No. But you do."

What with the worry and the stress and the encroaching exhaustion of the post-midnight hour--but mostly, probably, the amount of blood both recently and currently diverted from his brain--it takes Dean a second to get what he means. When he does, he glares. "Shut the fuck up, Jimmy. No I don't."

Jimmy sighs. "Dean--"

Dean kisses him firmly, fiercely, stopping whatever stupid self-sacrificing argument he was going to make about coerced consent or physical limitations or what-the-fuck-ever. When he draws back, he finds Jimmy staring at him, alert now, eyes wide and jaw slack in an expression that looks a lot like wonder.

Dean clears his throat, collecting himself as he sits back on his haunches and levels Jimmy with a blunt look. "If you think I'm not a hundred percent on-board with saving your life," he says gruffly, "--with _sex_ , Jimmy, come on--you're a fucking moron."

The wonder on Jimmy's face warms and broadens and all of a sudden he's looking at Dean with open affection. "Yeah?" he says, and goddammit, this might actually be Dean's lucky day: he sounds hopeful.

Dean ducks his head a little, shrugging. "Truth be told, uh, I would've been up for this even without the saving-your-life part," he admits, then kisses Jimmy again to stop his soft laughter and hide his own blush.

It's sweet and warm and easy for maybe three seconds before Jimmy gasps against Dean's mouth and closes his teeth on Dean's lower lip in a sharp bite. Dean plants his hands on Jimmy's shoulders and pushes him back; opening his eyes, he finds Jimmy's hands convulsing into fists, his neck muscles cording, his expression tightening into a grimace of pain and fear.

"Hey," Dean says, forcing his voice to stay low and calm in the face of Jimmy's rising frenzy. "Hey, Jimmy, look at me." Cupping Jimmy's face in his hands, he tilts his head until he does. "It's okay, sweetheart," he murmurs. "We're gonna get you through this. What do you need?"

Jimmy's frantic eyes haze over with lust. Dragging over Dean's body, they fix on his cock; Jimmy's tongue darts out over his bottom lip. "Jerk off on me," he says hoarsely, and Dean hesitates only long enough to squirt some conditioner into his hand to ease the friction.

"That's it," Jimmy rasps, watching transfixed as Dean pulls and twists and coaxes himself unforgivingly back towards the peak. "Touch yourself for me."

_____

"Grady returned to his house," Cas announces as he comes through the door over two hours later.

Jimmy arches his back and bears down on the three fingers Dean's got buried in his ass and spills more come into the mess on his stomach, making a keening sound that's three-quarters misery. His orgasm doesn't relax him even for a moment. His dripping dick stays fully hard, his balls drawn up tight.

"Are you okay?" Dean demands, pulling his fingers free as carefully as he can before rising to cross to Cas. "I've been trying to call you for an hour! What happened?"

Cas looks from Dean, who is love-bitten and stubble-burned and wearing nothing but his boxers, to Jimmy, who is naked and come-spattered and writhing mindlessly on the bed. Dean sees his nostrils flare, and becomes abruptly aware of the absolute stench of sex in the room.

Despite his earlier misgivings about Cas being here for this, now that he is, Dean doesn't feel weird or awkward or embarrassed. He can't. He's too worried. "Cas!"

Cas blinks. His attention snaps to Dean; his throat bobs in a thick swallow. "Yes," he answers belatedly, colour rising in his cheeks. "Yes, I'm fine. My phone was damaged when Grady tried to fight. He's dead now. I don't think he knew there were three of us." The flustered look in his eyes turns flinty. "He certainly wasn't expecting me."

"Thank fuck." Dean's never been less sorry to hear about a man's murder. But curses are made to outlast their casters, and Dean gives Cas a helpless look. "But we still got a problem."

He gives Cas the Cliff's Notes version of what took him too many rounds of sex to figure out: everything Jimmy's done to Dean, Jimmy has needed done to him in return. And they've matched each other act for act, except--

"Fucking me was round one, Cas. Round goddamn _one_. Fucking him should've been round two, should've been the first damn thing I did when getting off once wasn't enough to break the curse." Dean shakes his head, unable to meet Cas's gaze as guilt swells through his chest to rise like bile in his throat. "And now I--Cas, I'm spent. He wrung me out before I put two and two together, and now I can't--I've tried my tongue, my fingers, a toy--he comes, but it's not enough. He needs a person."

He expects Cas's concern to turn to steely determination; expects him to turn on his heel and head for the door, to bark out that he's going to bring back the first hooker he finds and Dean is to keep doing what he can for Jimmy in the meantime.

Cas's concern turns to steely determination. His gaze returns to Jimmy as he pulls off his coat and tosses it onto the room's sunken sofa. He kneels down to undo his boots, working the laces with brutal efficiency.

"...uh." Dean looks from Cas to Jimmy to the motel room's closed door. "Cas?"

"He can't wait." Cas's voice is firm. He doesn't look at Dean as he stands again to toe out of his boots; his hands work swiftly down the line of his shirt buttons. "I'm going to take care of him." He shucks his shirt off onto the floor and reaches for his fly. He flicks open the button, and grasps the tab of the zipper, and then he stops. He still doesn't look at Dean. "I know this is..." he begins, hesitant; but then Jimmy makes a tortured sound, and his lips press into a tight line. Resolute--still not looking at Dean--he goes back to undressing, opening his zipper and bending to pull off his jeans and socks. "If you're not comfortable with this, I understand," he says, and under the plainly-stated out is something that sounds a lot like regret.

"If I'm not _comfortable_ \--?" Dean repeats, a little shrill, as Cas straightens again in nothing but his boxer-briefs, and holy shit, this is not the time to get into his recent preoccupation with minor variations on _this_. Dean has no idea if _this_ is something Cas even wants to be doing, or if it's an expression of the ruthless pragmatism that's been known to steer him into making questionable decisions he tends to loathe himself for later.

Regardless, what Cas said is true: Jimmy can't wait. Dean casts a glance to where he's curled in on himself on the bed, twitching with pain and exhaustion and black-magic need. Dean scrubs his hand over his mouth. "Do you want me to go?" he asks, lost.

"I want all of us to still have a partnership in the morning." Despite Cas's harsh tone, he sounds plaintive. His gaze roves over Dean's body in an obvious catalogue of the marks Jimmy's left on him over the last few hours, and he falters. "Regardless of how it may have already changed," he adds, and Dean hears resignation in it. "I don't want to lose you," he finishes, finally looking up, catching Dean's breath in his throat with the open yearning in his eyes. "I don't want to lose either of you."

It's not a no. But it's also, very clearly, not a yes.

More than anything, it's a plea for reassurance. It speaks directly to the fear of loss that lives in Dean's own bones, and he makes the decision Cas has so carefully left up to him. "You won't. You won't, okay? You'll do what you gotta do to save Jimmy's life--and hell, Cas, that's what I've been doing all night, it's not like I don't understand. He will, too. And neither of us'll go anywhere."

Cas stares at him, looking for--something. Dean can't figure out what. He doesn't lose his air of resignation--the grim lines around his eyes and mouth don't soften--but he still doesn't tell Dean to go. Finally, he nods, and gets back to business.

They're doing this, then. As Cas hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and peels them off, Dean shuffles his feet, raising one hand to rub the back of his neck. "You, uh, need a hand...?"

But somehow, Cas is already well on his way to hard. As soon as he's fully naked, he wraps his hand around himself and kneads with intent. Dean's been up close and personal with Jimmy's dick all night, and Cas and Jimmy really are identical all over--and Dean wishes for the millionth time that he could've learned this about them for any other reason--but he can't help but stare. Cas is shameless in the way he touches himself, shameless and sure. And yeah, given the situation, he can't exactly take his time; but there's an ease to his unselfconsciousness that gives Dean the distinct impression that this is just how Cas is with sex.

It's pretty fucking hot.

Dean can't drag himself away from the steady stroke of Cas's broad hand on his dick--the shape of his fingers where they're tunneled around himself, the soft sound of skin on skin--until Cas breaks the quiet. "You said you used your tongue on him?"

Dean's eyes shoot up. Cas is regarding him thoughtfully, and Dean realizes he's been watching him as he watched Cas touch himself. The tips of his ears burn. "Yeah. I--yeah."

Cas tilts his head. Pauses his hand to rub the pad of his thumb in a circle on the head of his dick, and fuck, that's precome he's smearing around, welling up from his slit, glistening. "I would've liked to have seen that."

Dean's brain snags on the implication. No; the obvious fucking fact.

Cas is turned the fuck on by the thought of Dean rimming his twin.

Jesus.

By the time Dean pulls himself together, Cas has knelt up onto the bed beside Jimmy and is trying to ease him out of his fetal curl. Jimmy is rigid under Cas's careful hands, his muscles locked and quivering, his oversensitized body jerking intermittently in uncontrolled spasms of pain. "Dammit," Dean mutters, and hurries to help, climbing onto the bed on Jimmy's other side. Together, despite Jimmy flinching and whimpering at every touch, they manage to unfold him and coax him onto his stomach.

As soon as they get Jimmy laid out, Cas straddles his thighs and leans down to murmur urgently in his ear. "Jimmy, it's me. Can you hear me? I love you. You know I love you, right?" And then, his gravel voice hardening to a growl: "I have every intention of fucking you like I don't."

Jimmy--who Dean had thought was too far gone to hear or understand--starts struggling beneath him. For a long, sickening moment, Dean thinks he's trying to push Cas off, trying to get away. But-- "Please, Cas," Jimmy sobs, racked and broken and _begging_ , and Dean realizes, with a hot thud to his nerves, that he's trying to get his shaking knees under him. Trying to raise his ass up to his brother like an offering. "Fuck me, Cas, please--"

Cas presses a gentle kiss under Jimmy's ear, then draws back to help him position himself, fitting his hands to Jimmy's hips to lift him, then smoothing his hands up and down Jimmy's flanks as he settles on his knees behind him. There's no hesitation in his touch, no discomfort. No unfamiliarity.

And Jimmy submits to Cas more easily than Dean's seen him do anything all night. More easily than can be chalked up to the curse's thrall. Like he knows his suffering's almost over. Like he knows, without question, Cas'll take care of him.

And Dean realizes: when Cas looked at him with that inscrutable resignation, it wasn't because Cas thought he'd leave if Cas fucked his twin. It was because Cas thought he'd leave when he found out this wasn't their first time.

Holy _shit_.

He can't dwell on it, though, because right in front of him Cas is hooking one hand around Jimmy's hip to hold him in place, reaching down with his other hand to line up his cock, and sheathing himself to the root in Jimmy's shuddering body. With his hips pressed flush to Jimmy's ass, he breathes out, breathes in; then, planting his hand between Jimmy's shoulderblades--pushing him down so his chest and face are shoved against the mattress--he braces himself and goes to work. True to his word, there's not much that's loving about it: he fucks Jimmy like Jimmy's something to be used, his dick pistoning hard and fast and merciless in his brother's slick, pink hole.

And Jimmy--Christ. Jimmy takes it like Cas is all he was made for. He shivers beneath him, but otherwise doesn't move under Cas's immovable hand, Cas's weight holding him down, Cas's driving thrusts rocking the bed. His tan skin is fever-flushed. His hands fist, white-knuckled, around the bedsheet. His hair is soaked with sweat; tears gleam where they're caught in his eyelashes. What Dean can see of his expression with his head pushed down on the mattress is by turns agony and bliss.

It's the hottest fucking thing Dean's ever seen. Arousal pools and thickens low in his gut, even though his worn-out dick can't manage more than a feeble twitch. Even though he's too raw for even that slight brush against the fabric of his boxers to feel good, and he has to shift his weight to adjust himself.

But he can't not be a part of this. Can't not be a part of _them_ , now that he's seen them like this, now that he understands them like this; he fucking _can't_. Glancing up--too dazed to really know what he's looking for--he finds Cas's eyes on him, dark and intense. Whatever Cas sees in his expression makes his mouth fall slack, his hips jerk once out of rhythm. "Touch him," he rasps.

The command fuzzes hotly through Dean's skull. Reaching out, he rakes his hand into Jimmy's hair, palms his scalp, sweeps his thumb over Jimmy's cheekbone. Leans down to talk low and dirty in his ear, like Cas did. "You feel that, Jimmy? Feel Cas fucking you? That's what you need, isn't it? Need him to fuck it out of you?"

Jimmy's hands scrabble in the sheets, the muscles in his arms and shoulders bunching. His chapped and bitten lips part; he makes an incoherent sound of utter fucking want.

Dean presses a kiss to Jimmy's temple and strokes his hand through Jimmy's hair. "Let it go, sweetheart. Come on Cas's cock."

Jimmy shudders. The trembling plane of his back, already stretched out long and broad from sweatslick shoulders to cocksplit ass, _curves_ , gorgeous and obscene. Rolling his hips, he pushes himself back--takes Cas's next thrust even deeper--chokes out a moan and seizes up tight, his body arching in a rictus of release.

"Jim--fuck--that's it," Cas bites out, straining as he fucks him through it. "--come for us, so good--so good for us--"

_Us._ Dean stares at his own hands as he pets through Jimmy's hair and runs a soothing hand over his arm, wrist to shoulder to nape and back again.

When Jimmy falls limp, Cas stops moving. His breath quakes out of him, then drags back in. Shifting his weight, he drapes himself over Jimmy's back, blanketing him, his head tipped down to rest on Jimmy's shoulder. The hand that held Jimmy so punishingly to the bed sinks into Jimmy's hair; when his fingers find Dean's still splayed on the crown of Jimmy's head, he covers Dean's hand with his own, lets his fingers fall between Dean's, cradles Jimmy with him. "You're okay," he murmurs against Jimmy's shoulder, barely audible. His lips catch on Jimmy's skin as he trails a path to Jimmy's jaw. "You're okay," as he kisses up to the corner of Jimmy's panting mouth. "You're okay, you're okay."

He shifts again, and his hand leaves Jimmy's head. He wraps his arms around Jimmy, slipping between Jimmy's chest and the come-painted bed, and then Cas eases back, sits up, brings Jimmy with him. Dean lets his own hands fall away as Cas settles on his knees with Jimmy in his lap, gathered up against him with his head lolling back on Cas's shoulder. One of Cas's strong arms curls low around Jimmy's waist; the other stretches across Jimmy's chest, a protective, immobilizing band.

"You're okay," Cas breathes, and he tucks his face against the column of Jimmy's throat, and he rocks his hips. He fucks his brother slowly now, achingly. The muscles in his ass and thighs flex with his rhythm; the muscles in his arms cord as he holds Jimmy up, holds him close.

It's so fucking intimate. Dean doesn't know if Cas is okay with him watching them like this--if Jimmy would be, if he knew--but he couldn't look away if he wanted to. When Cas's arms tighten and his breath hitches and his body stills and quivers, it's the most beautiful thing Dean's ever seen.

Cas kisses Jimmy's throat, his shoulder, before raising his head and loosening his grip. Slipping Jimmy off his lap--off his softening cock, come leaking out over Jimmy's fluttering rim; it hits Dean belatedly, with a dark-edged thrill, that Cas fucked his brother bare--he lays him out carefully on the bed, his hands restless and tender and shaking. His cheeks are damp; his lashes stay low. He doesn't look at Dean.

Dean's heart pangs. "So," he begins carefully. "You and Jimmy."

"Yes. Since we were teenagers." It's Cas's good-soldier voice, stoic and blunt. Hoarser than usual. He finishes straightening Jimmy's legs, running one hand up and down Jimmy's calf before wrapping it around his ankle. "We stopped sleeping together when we started hunting with you," he adds, and Dean's startled indrawn breath must sound like whatever reaction Cas was expecting from him, because finally, he looks up. His gaze is shuttered, but his eyes are red-rimmed. "Jimmy and I are both very fond of you, Dean. We didn't want to risk your disgust."

"I'm not disgusted," Dean blurts. Maybe too quickly: Cas's eyes narrow, his lips pressing together, his chin tipping up. Dean wonders if Cas thinks he was just playing along when he watched--helped--Cas get Jimmy off. Just doing what needed to be done to save Jimmy's life. Or--maybe worse--if he believes Dean, but thinks his lack of disgust is because Cas and Jimmy cater to some impersonal, opportunistic twins fantasy. "No, Cas--listen. I told Jimmy earlier that he didn't need to feel guilty about needing my help with the curse because--because I was on board, okay? Really fucking on board, man. I told him I've wanted...more...for a while."

Cas's guard slips: Dean catches a flash of resignation before his expression goes impassive again, and dammit, now he's got a different wrong idea.

Reaching out, Dean puts his hand on Cas's where he's still holding Jimmy's ankle, slips his fingers between Cas's to hold Jimmy with him. Looking Cas square in the eye, he says, "Now I'm telling you: the reason I didn't make a move before is because I thought I'd have to choose."

Cas's eyes widen.

For the second time tonight, Dean finds himself blushing under a Novak twin's affectionate wonder.

_____

They sponge Jimmy off and move him into the other, unused and much cleaner, bed. They pour some Gatorade down his throat, then split the rest of the bottle between them.

When Dean lurches to his feet to go collapse on the pullout, Cas pushes him back down next to Jimmy. "I think we've all proved we're capable of sharing," he says mildly, and Dean, seeing the warm gleam in his eyes, lays back, smiling.

Cas goes to clean himself up. Jimmy sighs in his sleep as Dean counterweighs him on the mattress. With Jimmy out of danger, Cas puttering quietly in the bathroom, and the promise of an awkward conversation with a pretty awesome payoff once all three of them are conscious again in the morning, Dean lets his well-exercised body relax and start drifting towards sleep.

Until something occurs to him, and he snorts.

Cas leans out of the bathroom with his toothbrush in his hand. "What?"

"Your dead silence when I told you what kind of curse Jimmy was under." Dean rolls his head on his pillow to give Cas a smirk. "I thought that was you being embarrassed about your brother's rabid sex drive. But I guess it was actually you regretting that you weren't the one helping him with it, huh?"

"It wasn't the ideal division of labour, no," Cas says, deadpan. Then, tilting his head, his gaze roams thoughtfully across the bed: past Dean to Jimmy; past Jimmy to the space where Cas will squeeze in next to him; finally, back to Dean. "But it seems to have turned out alright."


End file.
